http://www.artofbackpacking.com/the-kindness-of-strangers/
another article published on the art of backpacking website, please check it out, comment and support the site
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Friday, May 14, 2010
Travelling Alone
You can read this article on the website the art of backpacking
Please comment and support the site
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“Aren’t you worried about travelling alone?” It’s a question I get asked all the time. Friends and colleges who have never backpacked always ask this. “Don’t you worry about making friends?’ The answer is always the same. Of course not.
Travelling alone is the only way I can do it. I’ve tried travelling with friends, and yes, it has its benefits, seeing a familiar face every day, having someone to eat with, talk to, and do things with. But, personally, I’ve always found that a well known friend on my travels stopped me from doing what I loved. Exploring, meeting new people, and finding new things.
So today I’ll dispel a few worried thoughts about travelling solo, share a few tales, and give a few tips for those who are still concerned.
When you’re travelling alone, you’re rarely travelling alone. In any given hostel around this wonderful world, there are many others doing the same as you. Exploring a new part of the world with nothing but a budging backpack and a Mack in a pack. You have so much in common with every single person. Go downstairs early enough and you’ll find a lonely German who’s going to explore the local area. Come down at lunch and you’ll find an Irish clan starting to drink. Make you way down around dinner and some lonely English girl will want to go to the local cinema. You will not be alone unless you really want to be.
The beauty about backpacking, and living in hostels, is that everyone is your friend. You sit down on a bus to travel 12 hours back to Bangkok and the person on the seat next to you is suddenly your new best friend. In a hostel in South Africa; the person in the bunk above yours is your new buddy. You’ll sit down with your beans on toast in the dining area on a cold Austrian night, and the person opposite is your dining partner. This is the beauty of the backpacker’s world. We’re all in it together. You can walk up to any person in the hostel and start a conversation. ‘Where are you from, where have you been, where are you going’. Those 3 questions will keep you going for a long time (though I warn you, after 5 months of answering this, you can start to get a little bored, so try to keep things interesting).
The best place to meet people is the dining area, or anywhere that has tables and chairs. If you sit there long enough, someone will sit next to you, or across from you, and you’ve got yourself a chatting buddy.
Sometimes it can be a bit difficult to break the ice. But here are a few tips of mine on how to make friends in a backpacker environment:
Cake Fishing
Go to the supermarket, buy a cake (or make one, if you have skills). Cut a few slices, sit down at a dining room table, and wait. I guarantee you that someone will come up and make a comment. When they do, put a slice in front of them, and invite them to sit down. You now have a new friend (this is based on the sound scientific reasoning that no one can be angry after eating cake). The bonus with this is that later on in the evening when people are drinking, they’ll remember you as ‘cake boy/girl’, and offer you a drink for giving them a slice. Cake isn’t a treat, it’s an investment.
Sock puppets
Go down to the dining area/bar with a sock puppet on, and just have a chat to it. Someone will eventually come up to you and ask what you’re doing. Introduce you’re sock to them, and have a round table conversation (it helps to have thought up a good back story for the puppet, name, where they come from, how the evil wizard turned them into a sock puppet etc). Obviously, some people will think you’re insane. But some won’t. Or some will, and will WANT to be friends with you because of that. Either way, you’ll get people talking
Goon
In my last article, I talked about the wonders of Goon in Australia. It is the classic friendship maker. Buy a box, sit down with a few glasses, and offer one to whoever ends up next to you. They will have had a Goon night, and will tell you their Goon story. You’ll probably have one of your own too. Share, reminisce and grimace away. Then do it all again
Have a Party
Many of those who are travelling are there to have a good time. We’re young, we’re free, we’re ready to explore, and we’re ready to mingle. We’ll take hikes, we’ll go to museums, and we’ll visit art galleries through the day. And when the eve comes, we’re ready to make something of it. So make something of it. Find an interesting part of the hostel and have a party. Play some music, get some balloons and whenever anyone turns up, party along with them. My favourite place to do this is in a lift. Lift parties are epic. People have to use them all night, so you have a steady stream of party goers. Give them some drinks, give them some party food, and make them dance. You’ll have a great one. (Warning- spending a whole evening in a lift can make you feel a little sea sick or rather lift sick). You can also use dining areas, receptions, your room (if your room mates are willing), smoking areas, cupboards, sofas, or any other interesting room a hostel possesses.
Backpackers are some of the friendliest people in the world. They’ve come to another country, wanting to see new things, and meet new people, and all of them are happy to talk to you. So please, never be worried about travelling alone
Please comment and support the site
-------------------------
“Aren’t you worried about travelling alone?” It’s a question I get asked all the time. Friends and colleges who have never backpacked always ask this. “Don’t you worry about making friends?’ The answer is always the same. Of course not.
Travelling alone is the only way I can do it. I’ve tried travelling with friends, and yes, it has its benefits, seeing a familiar face every day, having someone to eat with, talk to, and do things with. But, personally, I’ve always found that a well known friend on my travels stopped me from doing what I loved. Exploring, meeting new people, and finding new things.
So today I’ll dispel a few worried thoughts about travelling solo, share a few tales, and give a few tips for those who are still concerned.
When you’re travelling alone, you’re rarely travelling alone. In any given hostel around this wonderful world, there are many others doing the same as you. Exploring a new part of the world with nothing but a budging backpack and a Mack in a pack. You have so much in common with every single person. Go downstairs early enough and you’ll find a lonely German who’s going to explore the local area. Come down at lunch and you’ll find an Irish clan starting to drink. Make you way down around dinner and some lonely English girl will want to go to the local cinema. You will not be alone unless you really want to be.
The beauty about backpacking, and living in hostels, is that everyone is your friend. You sit down on a bus to travel 12 hours back to Bangkok and the person on the seat next to you is suddenly your new best friend. In a hostel in South Africa; the person in the bunk above yours is your new buddy. You’ll sit down with your beans on toast in the dining area on a cold Austrian night, and the person opposite is your dining partner. This is the beauty of the backpacker’s world. We’re all in it together. You can walk up to any person in the hostel and start a conversation. ‘Where are you from, where have you been, where are you going’. Those 3 questions will keep you going for a long time (though I warn you, after 5 months of answering this, you can start to get a little bored, so try to keep things interesting).
The best place to meet people is the dining area, or anywhere that has tables and chairs. If you sit there long enough, someone will sit next to you, or across from you, and you’ve got yourself a chatting buddy.
Sometimes it can be a bit difficult to break the ice. But here are a few tips of mine on how to make friends in a backpacker environment:
Cake Fishing
Go to the supermarket, buy a cake (or make one, if you have skills). Cut a few slices, sit down at a dining room table, and wait. I guarantee you that someone will come up and make a comment. When they do, put a slice in front of them, and invite them to sit down. You now have a new friend (this is based on the sound scientific reasoning that no one can be angry after eating cake). The bonus with this is that later on in the evening when people are drinking, they’ll remember you as ‘cake boy/girl’, and offer you a drink for giving them a slice. Cake isn’t a treat, it’s an investment.
Sock puppets
Go down to the dining area/bar with a sock puppet on, and just have a chat to it. Someone will eventually come up to you and ask what you’re doing. Introduce you’re sock to them, and have a round table conversation (it helps to have thought up a good back story for the puppet, name, where they come from, how the evil wizard turned them into a sock puppet etc). Obviously, some people will think you’re insane. But some won’t. Or some will, and will WANT to be friends with you because of that. Either way, you’ll get people talking
Goon
In my last article, I talked about the wonders of Goon in Australia. It is the classic friendship maker. Buy a box, sit down with a few glasses, and offer one to whoever ends up next to you. They will have had a Goon night, and will tell you their Goon story. You’ll probably have one of your own too. Share, reminisce and grimace away. Then do it all again
Have a Party
Many of those who are travelling are there to have a good time. We’re young, we’re free, we’re ready to explore, and we’re ready to mingle. We’ll take hikes, we’ll go to museums, and we’ll visit art galleries through the day. And when the eve comes, we’re ready to make something of it. So make something of it. Find an interesting part of the hostel and have a party. Play some music, get some balloons and whenever anyone turns up, party along with them. My favourite place to do this is in a lift. Lift parties are epic. People have to use them all night, so you have a steady stream of party goers. Give them some drinks, give them some party food, and make them dance. You’ll have a great one. (Warning- spending a whole evening in a lift can make you feel a little sea sick or rather lift sick). You can also use dining areas, receptions, your room (if your room mates are willing), smoking areas, cupboards, sofas, or any other interesting room a hostel possesses.
Backpackers are some of the friendliest people in the world. They’ve come to another country, wanting to see new things, and meet new people, and all of them are happy to talk to you. So please, never be worried about travelling alone
Friday, May 7, 2010
dragging love
Angus lit his cigarette slowly and felt the acrid smoke fill his throat. The metallic click of the lighter echoed around the empty town square. Silence is golden. Silence is safe.
He straightened his upturned collar against the cold and let out that first smoky breath. Watching the smoke mingle and merge with the fog and smiling. Simple pleasures. It’s all life was really.
A mere few months ago, Angus has rolled high. His suits were immaculate. His cars were fast. His food was always expensive. He used to feel he had it all. He used to feel he needed it all. Then that day came. That day that still sends a shiver down your spine. That day when it all began. When most things ended. Now he stood. Unshaven. Unwashed. Muddied boots and stitched up jeans. Trench Coat hanging heavily off his shoulders. Shotgun cocked. Cricket bat bloodied. Ready to go. Ready to fight. Desperate to survive.
Today, a cigarette was heaven. A whiskey was utopia. A 3 day old sandwich was freaking Shangrila.
It was Angus’s turn to watch the square. The rest of his troupe were huddled in the basement of ‘The Bear and Wheelbarrow’. He didn’t even know where they were. They’d be on the move for weeks now.
It was quite tonight. So quiet he could hear the cigarette paper burning. So quiet he could hear the gravel move under his boots. So quiet he could hear them coming.
The sound was always the same. The dragging feet across the ground. The moan. Angus got ready. How many were there? He only had 3 shots in the gun. The bat would help, but not if there were lots. Maybe it was best to run? It was getting closer. The moan echoed around the square. Angus crouched, ready and waiting. He whispered the mantra to himself
“Come on you fucker. Come on you Zombie piece of shit”
Then it came. Hunched and crooked. Mangled and distorted. Disjointed and...Strangely arousing.
Maybe it was the weeks living off dry rations. Maybe it was the unclean feeling that running for your life will give you. Maybe it was because all the women in his troupe were totally dykes. But this zombie was beautiful.
“No...come on Angus...it’s a zombie. They killed your brother. They’ve destroyed your life. Keep Focus”
“MMMMAAAUUUUUUUUUGGGGGHHHHHH” it spoke in the most luscious bass.
“Kill it man...kill it”
“MMMAAAUUUGGGHHHH” the way it moved. Dragging those hips this way and that.
“It’s Gonna Kill You”
“MMMAAAUUUUGGGHHHH” but still he couldn’t do it. The way her head hanging to one side. Hair blonde hair matted together with the dried blood of her victims. The way one of her breasts had fallen off. She was magnificent.
Angus dropped his gun to his side and stood. The zombie ambled towards him
“Hi...I’m Angus”
“Brrraaaaiiiinns”
“Erm...wow, I don’t normally do this, but I noticed you across the square and...”
“Brrrrraaaaiiinnnns”
“...well, could I maybe buy you a drink?” Angus laid on his most charming smile. The one he once used to arrange an orgy with the entire cast of Cats.
The zombie stopped he slowly crawl across the square and gave, what Angus guessed was, a coy zombie smile.
“Brrains” she seemed to giggle.
Angus pulled out one of his Molotov cocktails, removed the material from the top, and handed it to the Zombie. He noticed a blood splattered name tag on her top.
“Amanda” he read. “Such a pretty name”
“Brains” she sexily moaned with a flick of her hair. He was entranced but this woman. Her limp, her scabs, the blood trickling from the side of her mouth. He wanted her. He Needed her. He’d do anything for her
“This may be a little forward Amanda, but...you are so beautiful. I want you Amanda. I’d do anything to be with you....anything”
“MMMAAAUUUGGH” she replied in those luscious tones.
“What do you want my darling, what do you need?” Angus pleaded
“Brains” she answered. Looking longingly into his eyes
“Yes, of course, how silly of me...I will get you brains”
Angus skipped away with a fluttering his heart. He hadn’t felt this way since his School girlfriend Miranda before she became a whore and kissed Scott Mackintosh. Amanda was beautiful, interesting, mysterious. He needed to show her he was worth it. He had to make her love him. He ran back to the Bear and Wheelbarrow and gave the secret knock (the Addams Family theme tune). ‘It’s Angus, open up’
The door creaked open and John looked up at him.
“Angus...is everything okay?” John asked. His brow sweaty and dirty. His breathe stank of gin.
“Yeah, yeah, fine, awesome. I just erm...I just need to speak to Rowan quickly” he replied, ushering past the balding stinking man.
On the walk back Angus had considered his options. He knew he needed a brain for his woman. And he knew where there were many brains. But who’s to pick? There were 6 of them left now.
Cynthia was in her 30’s, had worked in an office for most of her adult life. Liked cats and before the Zombie Apocalypse had watched every Sex in the City episode at least 30 times. While she refused to admit it sober, she always thought about Kim Cattrel on the lonely nights. While she was utterly useless with a weapon, she was a slow runner, and if he needed a human shield, she was probably the best bet.
Anthony was the last to join their group, found defending himself with only a roll of wallpaper and a sack full of golf balls on top of a Volkswagen. While it annoyed Angus, the way he pronounced ‘Cheese’, Anthony was tougher than a week old baguette. He was a good guy to keep around
As was Linda. A shaven headed punk with more nose rings than leg waxes. She was a bitch like no other. But Angus had seen her decapitate a zombie with a toilet seat. And he respected that.
John was a snivelly weak willed alcoholic who had trouble breathing on cold nights. His stories went nowhere, and they were all fairly certain he hadn’t dated anyone his entire life. However his pathetic loneliness had left him with so much free time, he knew the details of every tiny village across Western Yorkshire. He was useful to the cause.
Rowan however...
He’d worked in a shop since he was 16. He liked Rugby, though had never played in his life. His claim to fame was completing Grand Theft Auto. He was partially deaf after he went to a Motorhead concert when he was 13. His life was going nowhere, and the zombie apocalypse was probably the most exciting thing that would have ever occurred in his life. It was time for him to die.
“Rowan, hey man, can I talk to you?” Angus smiled a Cheshire cat smile and lead Rowan to the back of the room.
“Sure thing Angus”
When they were far enough away, Angus whispered “Look Rowan, you and I...we...we get it, don’t we?”
Rowan looked confused. Or normal, whichever way you want to look at it.
“We’ve got a connection, haven’t we? We get each other. We know what’s going on?” Angus tried to whisper in the most motivating way possible
“Erm...yeah, I guess”
“Well, look, I don’t mean to be horrible about anyone here, but...well they just...they’re fodder Rowan. We’re champions. I can see it in your eyes. We’re going to survive this”. Angus was a wonderful motivator. He’d once got his paintball team to not only win the game, but claim the territory as their own. It took a 3 day standoff with the police to get them to leave.
“While I was in the square, I found something that’s going to help us. I need you to help me with it. It will be our little secret”
Rowans eyes glowed with intrigue and wonder. No one had ever trusted him before. Not even after he’d bought in those cookies for everyone at work. He never got the respect he deserved.
The two of them slipped out to the square, crouching as they walked, like two crabs dressed as hoboes. When they reached the fountain, Angus turned to Rowan and in a whispered voice he told him to stay here; he’d be back in a second.
Quickly searching the square again, Angus found his Amanda in an alley, lumbering after a stray cat. The cat was merely toying with her, being the nimble feline she was, there was no way a zombie could ever catch her. That seemed no reason to leave however. This was the most excitement she’s had in weeks.
Angus arrive and cleared his throat. “Hi”
Amanda slowly turned with a moan and began limping towards him, lust, both blood and pelvic, coursing through her.
Angus backed away to lead her towards the waiting victim, and gave her the international sign for quiet, which even zombies understand. Slowly they sneaked and slouched like a mentally challenged caterpillar towards the dim witting Rowan, who was happily humming to himself and thinking not upon the danger he found himself in.
In fact, Rowan was currently thinking about his favourite pair of Rugby Boots. He’d never bought them or even tried them on. But the advert for them made them look so comfy and useful. He was just going over the finer points of the lacing when Amanda reached him, and sunk her dirty teeth into his mildly large forehead.
He screamed like a black woman from a 20’s cartoon as the blood poured over his face and into his lap. Angus worried himself over the others hearing and coming to the rescue. Images flashed through his mind of Linda’s Doc Martin buried deep into his crotch. His crouch was now Amanda’s, and Amanda’s alone. So he quick stuffed the old Molotov material into Rowans caterwauling mouth. He stood back and watched as Rowan flailed around and pleaded with his eyes. They seemed to say ‘OH GOD OH GOD PLEASE GOD HELP ME AHHHHH’.
He looked up at the gnawing image of his reanimated girl. She was so beautiful. The way her dimples seemed more pronounced as she ripped of chunks of his hair with her teeth. Her bloodshot eyes. Her nipples were erect. And so were Angus’.
He could feel something happening to him down below. In his special place. As he heard the crack of the broken skull he could help himself no longer, and started caressing his throbbing manhood.
Amanda slurped and chomped at the exposed brains, groaning passionately. Angus kept whacking away at his bugling underpants stick. He had never been so turned on to see a dead person suck the quivering brain out from a crushed skull before. It was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen.
‘Oh Amanda, I can’t take it anymore, I need you’ he screamed in passion
“Brains...”
“Yes, yes, Brains...”
He grabbed Amanda from behind and delicately kissed her writhing neck. His hands felt every mouldy curve of her shapely leprous figure. He squeezed her breast and felt some oozing fluid dampen her shirt. He caressed the wound where her right breast once sat. She moaned with pleasure
‘Braaaaiiinnns’
He slowly moved his hands up to her hair, stroking and pulling at the crusty locks. Clumps of hair and scalp came apart in Angus’ fingers. He flicked them away and bought his strong masculine hands down to her legs. Slowly hiking up her skirt to reveal soiled and moistened underwear, which he quickly pulled away.
Grabbing Amanda’s hips and thrusting them into his pulsating pelvic region, he bit his lips and went to work. Amanda continued to devour the brains of dearly departed Rowan while Angus ploughed that zombie pussy like a Monkey in a wind farm. She squirmed with brain fuelled ecstasy while he blitzed her undead beaver until it began seeping zombie love juice. This was the best sex he’d ever had.
After a good two minutes of vigorous pounding he felt the wonderful tingle of exodus in his magic sack, his knees buckled and he slumped to a halt against the fountains edge.
“Amy word...Amanda...that was...unbelievable”
“Brains” she replied, giving the zombie equivalent of a wink.
“I love you” he softly said, looking deep into her vacant eyes.
Her face remained passive and blood stained, but he could feel the warmth between them, she opened her arms, he went to embrace her.
And she bit his dick off.
Monday, May 3, 2010
a question i asked the blogess
the Harbinger introduced me to a favourite website of hers a while back http://thebloggess.com/. Since then, she's also become one of my favourites. INsane humour, genius pointlessness, jsut truely wonderful. She has a brilliant advice column on http://askthebloggess.pnn.com/, and i finally got around to asking her a queston, it amused me, so here it is-
Bloggess, last year, with my drinking buddies, we started a drinking rule that if you fart, you had to say 'mackerel’ (if someone else said it before you, everyone got to punch you until you named 5 fish). While it seems a little strange, this has totally helped those first few embarrassing moments with my girlfriend. I told her this story, and now any time I fart, I say ‘mackerel’ and it totally breaks the tension. Because she’s vegan, she has decided to say ‘Anemone’ whenever she bottom burps. Again, this works so well, you can’t help but smile when someone does this. So I wondered, what word do you think should we use when she lets out a Queef?
Bloggess, last year, with my drinking buddies, we started a drinking rule that if you fart, you had to say 'mackerel’ (if someone else said it before you, everyone got to punch you until you named 5 fish). While it seems a little strange, this has totally helped those first few embarrassing moments with my girlfriend. I told her this story, and now any time I fart, I say ‘mackerel’ and it totally breaks the tension. Because she’s vegan, she has decided to say ‘Anemone’ whenever she bottom burps. Again, this works so well, you can’t help but smile when someone does this. So I wondered, what word do you think should we use when she lets out a Queef?
Goon
Goon.
You just had a little shiver down your spine when you read that, didn’t you? Which means one of two things- You’ve either been travelling in Australia, or you can see the future, and your body is scared.
Goon is quite legendary. Not a hostel in Australia has a night where no one drinks Goon. It’s boxed wine. Usually bought for about $10 for 4 litres. It’s cheaper than mineral water. And after drinking it you’ll realise why. It doesn’t taste good. Imagine the kind of bottle of wine you’d buy when you’re 14 and wanting to make an impression on your new ‘girlfriends’ family. Then imagine you poured the entire bottle over a mattress that someone which a quite violent flu had spent the week on watching old Jerry Springer reruns. You let that ferment for a week maybe, and then squeeze that mattress out, collecting every last drop. That’s the best way I can describe the taste of Goon.
And everyone who’s ever had it has a story to tell about it. Seriously, ask any of your friends who’ve stayed in a hostel along the east coast of Oz
‘So, what’s Goon?’
‘Ah’ they’ll shake their head “Goon...goon...goon...I remember one time on Goon...”
So far science has not been able to explain the effects of Goon*. It is the only alcohol known to give you a hangover before you get drunk. You get a headache, you feel a little sick, and you start hating everyone around you.
There are rules to Goon. The official way it is to be drunk is in a mug. No one knows why, but drinking it out of a real glass is not acceptable. You may also use saucepans, jugs, or anything else that will make you look quite silly.
After 10pm, any Goon left on a table is communal. Well, it sort of is. Everyone’s so drunk you don’t really remember what’s yours.
Goon should be drunk within the confines of a drinking game. Ring of Fire is a classic, Eyes on keeps you moving, shot a minute is not recommended, but Goon is never recommending in general. You can drink Goon solo and slowly, but it’s just stupid. Goon is there to get you drunk, very drunk, very quickly, very cheaply. Even if you will regret it.
Red Goon is rarely enjoyed. White Goon is the preferred option in many people. Officially it’s wine. So with a white wine, you can get a drinkable bottle quite cheap and it gets better with price. Red wine is different; you can’t go for cheap Red. Unless you really want to forget the night and wake up next to a guy named Mandy wearing only a leopard skin thong.
Goon is made with Fish and Eggs. It says so on teh bottle. But don’t get freaked out, it’s just a finishing agent. And honestly, if you’re on a travelling budget, you’ll agree that if someone told you smoking a Mars bar would get you wasted, you’d probably try it. The best part about this fact, is that when you are drinking with GV’s (Goon Virgins), after the 5th or 6th mug, you can point this little disclaimer out to them, and see the colour on their face change rapidly.
Ice is recommended. The only thing worse than Goon is warm Goon. Some like to make ‘Magic goon’ and add lemonade, or another mixer. However Goon Cocktails are very hit and miss, I do warn you.
Some feel that goon is not enough on its own. And these are the sort of people that invented the Goon Bomb. Some of you who are more party types will be aware of Jagerbombs. Where you drop a shot of Jagermesiter into a glass of Red Bull, and down the whole thing. Well, a Goon Bomb is like that. Only with Goon instead of Red Bull. Yeah. Take a minute to think about that.
A night on Goon is different every time. But they’ll usually be blackouts. They’ll usually be incredible mistakes your friends will not let you live down. And the next morning, you will completely re-evaluate your life. It’s the vomit equivalent of an epiphany. You’ll realise where it went wrong, what you need to do, and that you defiantly will never do it again. Until the next night of course...
Some of you reading this may wonder why we do this. Pure hedonists, don’t care about your health, don’t care about the consequences, blah blah blah. And you know what, you’re maybe right. Goon will make you feel worse than most other drinks. However, you’ll also have one of the most entertaining nights on the stuff. You’ll make friends quicker than you ever thought possible. You’ll sing the words to songs you never even heard. You’ll smile all night, and you’ll enjoy it, and to me, this is what backpacking is all about. Putting your body on the line to meet people, have a great time, and do things you never thought possible.
*I have no scientific basis on this, but don’t feel like searching Wikipedia for a ‘reference’
You just had a little shiver down your spine when you read that, didn’t you? Which means one of two things- You’ve either been travelling in Australia, or you can see the future, and your body is scared.
Goon is quite legendary. Not a hostel in Australia has a night where no one drinks Goon. It’s boxed wine. Usually bought for about $10 for 4 litres. It’s cheaper than mineral water. And after drinking it you’ll realise why. It doesn’t taste good. Imagine the kind of bottle of wine you’d buy when you’re 14 and wanting to make an impression on your new ‘girlfriends’ family. Then imagine you poured the entire bottle over a mattress that someone which a quite violent flu had spent the week on watching old Jerry Springer reruns. You let that ferment for a week maybe, and then squeeze that mattress out, collecting every last drop. That’s the best way I can describe the taste of Goon.
And everyone who’s ever had it has a story to tell about it. Seriously, ask any of your friends who’ve stayed in a hostel along the east coast of Oz
‘So, what’s Goon?’
‘Ah’ they’ll shake their head “Goon...goon...goon...I remember one time on Goon...”
So far science has not been able to explain the effects of Goon*. It is the only alcohol known to give you a hangover before you get drunk. You get a headache, you feel a little sick, and you start hating everyone around you.
There are rules to Goon. The official way it is to be drunk is in a mug. No one knows why, but drinking it out of a real glass is not acceptable. You may also use saucepans, jugs, or anything else that will make you look quite silly.
After 10pm, any Goon left on a table is communal. Well, it sort of is. Everyone’s so drunk you don’t really remember what’s yours.
Goon should be drunk within the confines of a drinking game. Ring of Fire is a classic, Eyes on keeps you moving, shot a minute is not recommended, but Goon is never recommending in general. You can drink Goon solo and slowly, but it’s just stupid. Goon is there to get you drunk, very drunk, very quickly, very cheaply. Even if you will regret it.
Red Goon is rarely enjoyed. White Goon is the preferred option in many people. Officially it’s wine. So with a white wine, you can get a drinkable bottle quite cheap and it gets better with price. Red wine is different; you can’t go for cheap Red. Unless you really want to forget the night and wake up next to a guy named Mandy wearing only a leopard skin thong.
Goon is made with Fish and Eggs. It says so on teh bottle. But don’t get freaked out, it’s just a finishing agent. And honestly, if you’re on a travelling budget, you’ll agree that if someone told you smoking a Mars bar would get you wasted, you’d probably try it. The best part about this fact, is that when you are drinking with GV’s (Goon Virgins), after the 5th or 6th mug, you can point this little disclaimer out to them, and see the colour on their face change rapidly.
Ice is recommended. The only thing worse than Goon is warm Goon. Some like to make ‘Magic goon’ and add lemonade, or another mixer. However Goon Cocktails are very hit and miss, I do warn you.
Some feel that goon is not enough on its own. And these are the sort of people that invented the Goon Bomb. Some of you who are more party types will be aware of Jagerbombs. Where you drop a shot of Jagermesiter into a glass of Red Bull, and down the whole thing. Well, a Goon Bomb is like that. Only with Goon instead of Red Bull. Yeah. Take a minute to think about that.
A night on Goon is different every time. But they’ll usually be blackouts. They’ll usually be incredible mistakes your friends will not let you live down. And the next morning, you will completely re-evaluate your life. It’s the vomit equivalent of an epiphany. You’ll realise where it went wrong, what you need to do, and that you defiantly will never do it again. Until the next night of course...
Some of you reading this may wonder why we do this. Pure hedonists, don’t care about your health, don’t care about the consequences, blah blah blah. And you know what, you’re maybe right. Goon will make you feel worse than most other drinks. However, you’ll also have one of the most entertaining nights on the stuff. You’ll make friends quicker than you ever thought possible. You’ll sing the words to songs you never even heard. You’ll smile all night, and you’ll enjoy it, and to me, this is what backpacking is all about. Putting your body on the line to meet people, have a great time, and do things you never thought possible.
*I have no scientific basis on this, but don’t feel like searching Wikipedia for a ‘reference’
the best morning ever
I awoke one day upon an overcast morn in Durban, South Africa. The Beach Front hostel I was saying in had more cats and guests, I drank my coffee with a beautiful smile. Life seemed interesting this day. I wandered up to the hostel owner, burly guy by the name of Steve, huge hands, great moustache.
‘What can I do today? I’ve got some really awesome caffeine related enthusiasm’
‘Hmm...well you’re about 5 minutes late. The bus just left going to Ushaka Marine Park’ he said, looking genuinely bad for my bad luck
‘Oooh, I like fishes!’ I exclaimed ‘Is there another way to get there?’
He explained that a local bus service goes there, it’ll drops me off right at the door, very easy. He gave me the numbers and directions, and I set off on my little journey.
I stood waiting for the mythical number 7 bus, where I was told I should wait, and a rather rotund gent walks up to me ‘Where are you going?’ he asked in the Afrikaans drawl
‘Ushaka Marine Park’ I happily answered
‘Oh yes, yes, come with me’ and beckons me away. ‘Wonderful!’ I thought to myself, South Africa is so nice to tourists, a meet and greet service for the buses even.
We arrive at a small van. The kind builders would use. The one’s that look like the evolutionary path the SUV has taken (and taken the hard way). It could probably, safely, fit 5 people in there. There are 10 people in there already.
Being English, I am way too polite; I can’t refuse the invitation, so I hop on in. Sitting there, a little amused at myself, and suddenly realising I’m wearing a quite bright pair of shorts. I’m the only white person. The man next to me looks a little scary. This is going to be awesome.
5 more people get on. One of the women is carrying a chicken in a cage. We set off. Inside my head I am having the most amusing time. My inner voice has gone totally Mary Poppins. ‘Well look at this, that’s me, you, I think it’s Pimms O Clock!’
We get about 10 minutes down the road, and the driver turns to me and asks ‘Where you go?’
‘Ushaka Marine Park’ I reply, bright with smiles
‘Oh, we no go there. But will find you a way’
‘Wonderful news, anyone else for tea?’ My eyes are wide, I’m having the best time.
Getting out of the vehicle over the chickens and giving a rather tall man a crotch face, I am led around the corner to where another of these taxi services are waiting. The two men ramble in Afrikaans and I am wished luck by taxi man 1, and left with Taxi man number 2. Taxi man Number 2 looks like a homeless person and is reading Dostoevsky. I promise you, this is true. He looks at me and smiles, the way a tiger would look at a weasel. I figure, the bright shorts and rather insane t shirt were probably a good look today. Sure, people may think about mugging me, but I look like I haven’t got enough sense to have money me. And there’s equal chance I might just start barking
After a few minutes he leads me to my second taxi, and again we’re bundled on. Only 15 this time, and one of them sits on his mother’s lap. We are cruising. ‘Golly Gosh, look over there, that man has an Afroed hair Cut!’
Then, 10 minutes into the journey, the Dostoevsky reader turns to me and says ‘Where you go again?’
‘Ushaka Marine Park’
‘We no go there’
‘Ah’
‘Don’t worry, we find you way there’ he nods and smiles.
‘Does anyone have a chocolate digestive? I’m finding myself a tad peckish’ my inner voice says
We get into the heart of Durban City, which is, rather insane and scary. The Dostoevsky man jumps out, and tells me to come. He walks fast through the city, shouting and waving at hawkers and stall owners. People on all sides of me babble and scrabble for me to buy their rugs and children and beads. I’m weaving through them trying to keep up with my Guide. We go through a tunnel and arrive at another taxi rank. He stands in the middle of the road, getting high fives from passing cars, and trying to wrangle another taxi. Eventually we get one, it’s blaring out music at a level only to be appreciated when on mind altering substances, I get thrown in the back, and I am once again whisked away
‘Sweep Your Chimney Governor?’.
This time the music is so loud I can’t even ask the driver if I’m going the right way. A moment of panic flitted across my mind. Stabbings, hidden bodies, big warehouses where they cut up people, wolf creek, texas chainsaw massacre, Suddenly, breaks get slammed, the music is shut off, I’m pointed at, and told
’16 rand’.
‘Erm...Ushaka Marine Park?’
‘Yeah, over there’ and they all point at a gateway down the next street. I hand over my money, and wander into a nearby pub to write about the best morning ever. I order a dusty coke from the bartender while he smiles along to Abba songs. I spent the rest of the day listening to Black Sabbath and walking around a Marine Park full of white people. It was a quite simply epic day.
When finally back at the hostel (using the more sensible and quicker way), I tell Steve my story of the day. He nods his approval and assesses me up and down
‘You’ve got guts man. People get murdered on those things all the time, not many white folks use them’.
I am so freakin’ hardcore.
‘What can I do today? I’ve got some really awesome caffeine related enthusiasm’
‘Hmm...well you’re about 5 minutes late. The bus just left going to Ushaka Marine Park’ he said, looking genuinely bad for my bad luck
‘Oooh, I like fishes!’ I exclaimed ‘Is there another way to get there?’
He explained that a local bus service goes there, it’ll drops me off right at the door, very easy. He gave me the numbers and directions, and I set off on my little journey.
I stood waiting for the mythical number 7 bus, where I was told I should wait, and a rather rotund gent walks up to me ‘Where are you going?’ he asked in the Afrikaans drawl
‘Ushaka Marine Park’ I happily answered
‘Oh yes, yes, come with me’ and beckons me away. ‘Wonderful!’ I thought to myself, South Africa is so nice to tourists, a meet and greet service for the buses even.
We arrive at a small van. The kind builders would use. The one’s that look like the evolutionary path the SUV has taken (and taken the hard way). It could probably, safely, fit 5 people in there. There are 10 people in there already.
Being English, I am way too polite; I can’t refuse the invitation, so I hop on in. Sitting there, a little amused at myself, and suddenly realising I’m wearing a quite bright pair of shorts. I’m the only white person. The man next to me looks a little scary. This is going to be awesome.
5 more people get on. One of the women is carrying a chicken in a cage. We set off. Inside my head I am having the most amusing time. My inner voice has gone totally Mary Poppins. ‘Well look at this, that’s me, you, I think it’s Pimms O Clock!’
We get about 10 minutes down the road, and the driver turns to me and asks ‘Where you go?’
‘Ushaka Marine Park’ I reply, bright with smiles
‘Oh, we no go there. But will find you a way’
‘Wonderful news, anyone else for tea?’ My eyes are wide, I’m having the best time.
Getting out of the vehicle over the chickens and giving a rather tall man a crotch face, I am led around the corner to where another of these taxi services are waiting. The two men ramble in Afrikaans and I am wished luck by taxi man 1, and left with Taxi man number 2. Taxi man Number 2 looks like a homeless person and is reading Dostoevsky. I promise you, this is true. He looks at me and smiles, the way a tiger would look at a weasel. I figure, the bright shorts and rather insane t shirt were probably a good look today. Sure, people may think about mugging me, but I look like I haven’t got enough sense to have money me. And there’s equal chance I might just start barking
After a few minutes he leads me to my second taxi, and again we’re bundled on. Only 15 this time, and one of them sits on his mother’s lap. We are cruising. ‘Golly Gosh, look over there, that man has an Afroed hair Cut!’
Then, 10 minutes into the journey, the Dostoevsky reader turns to me and says ‘Where you go again?’
‘Ushaka Marine Park’
‘We no go there’
‘Ah’
‘Don’t worry, we find you way there’ he nods and smiles.
‘Does anyone have a chocolate digestive? I’m finding myself a tad peckish’ my inner voice says
We get into the heart of Durban City, which is, rather insane and scary. The Dostoevsky man jumps out, and tells me to come. He walks fast through the city, shouting and waving at hawkers and stall owners. People on all sides of me babble and scrabble for me to buy their rugs and children and beads. I’m weaving through them trying to keep up with my Guide. We go through a tunnel and arrive at another taxi rank. He stands in the middle of the road, getting high fives from passing cars, and trying to wrangle another taxi. Eventually we get one, it’s blaring out music at a level only to be appreciated when on mind altering substances, I get thrown in the back, and I am once again whisked away
‘Sweep Your Chimney Governor?’.
This time the music is so loud I can’t even ask the driver if I’m going the right way. A moment of panic flitted across my mind. Stabbings, hidden bodies, big warehouses where they cut up people, wolf creek, texas chainsaw massacre, Suddenly, breaks get slammed, the music is shut off, I’m pointed at, and told
’16 rand’.
‘Erm...Ushaka Marine Park?’
‘Yeah, over there’ and they all point at a gateway down the next street. I hand over my money, and wander into a nearby pub to write about the best morning ever. I order a dusty coke from the bartender while he smiles along to Abba songs. I spent the rest of the day listening to Black Sabbath and walking around a Marine Park full of white people. It was a quite simply epic day.
When finally back at the hostel (using the more sensible and quicker way), I tell Steve my story of the day. He nods his approval and assesses me up and down
‘You’ve got guts man. People get murdered on those things all the time, not many white folks use them’.
I am so freakin’ hardcore.
A little Asian Jet Lag tale-
I travelled to Borneo during my RTW trip, had a grand old time. Hiking Mountains, seeing Orang-utans, all was awesome. I flew from Kota Kinabalu to Singapore, stayed a day, and then took a couch trip to Kuala Lumpur. I arrived on very little sleep, tired legs from lots of hikes, very little decent food but an intrigued mind.
I wandered around the big malls of KL and appreciated the air conditioning. After a while and a few too many coffee’s this guy walks up to me and asks where I bought my bag, he really liked it. ‘Brighton in England’ I explained, maybe a little too loudly, and a conversation was begun. Turns out, ironically, that his sister was going to England soon, to study nursing, his mother was worried, and he wondered if I, a polite young English man, could go speak to his mother, and explain everything was going to be okay. ‘Why of course!’ I replied and followed him, joyous in the idea of meeting locals and being a real traveller.
He took me to the taxi rank and opened the door for me. Luckily, no matter how jet lagged I was, I wasn’t that stupid. I told the nice man ‘No Thank you’ and walked away, inner monologueing it down the street. ‘Man, If I was Hulk Hogan and not a kinda small with skinny arms, I totally would had hit him, grr’.
After a few minutes of walking I suddenly became aware that I had walked into the more ‘rural’ area of KL. The Slum houses, the angry looking people, and me, the lone white boy with Hawaiian shorts on.
‘Oh Boy’ I commented to myself ‘Maybe I should get a taxi...wait...what would Hulk Hogan do? Would the Hulkster get a taxi? No. NO! No way brother, Hulk Hogan would eat his vitamins, rip his shirt off and find his own way home Gosh Darn it’
So I walked, or rather, stomped, around the strange neighbourhoods of KL singing ‘Voodoo Chile’ to myself and working out the best way to leg drop someone.
Eventually I arrive back to the mall, quite pleased at myself, but even happier to be reacquainted with the air conditioning, when this guy comes up to me, and asks where I got my bag, he likes it.
I turn to him with an insane glint in my eyes ‘I bet you do, and I bet your sister is going to be a nurse in Manchester!’ I exclaimed. He looked worried and confused. ‘Leave me alone Brother, don’t make me run wild on you’.
Jet Lag Rules.
I wandered around the big malls of KL and appreciated the air conditioning. After a while and a few too many coffee’s this guy walks up to me and asks where I bought my bag, he really liked it. ‘Brighton in England’ I explained, maybe a little too loudly, and a conversation was begun. Turns out, ironically, that his sister was going to England soon, to study nursing, his mother was worried, and he wondered if I, a polite young English man, could go speak to his mother, and explain everything was going to be okay. ‘Why of course!’ I replied and followed him, joyous in the idea of meeting locals and being a real traveller.
He took me to the taxi rank and opened the door for me. Luckily, no matter how jet lagged I was, I wasn’t that stupid. I told the nice man ‘No Thank you’ and walked away, inner monologueing it down the street. ‘Man, If I was Hulk Hogan and not a kinda small with skinny arms, I totally would had hit him, grr’.
After a few minutes of walking I suddenly became aware that I had walked into the more ‘rural’ area of KL. The Slum houses, the angry looking people, and me, the lone white boy with Hawaiian shorts on.
‘Oh Boy’ I commented to myself ‘Maybe I should get a taxi...wait...what would Hulk Hogan do? Would the Hulkster get a taxi? No. NO! No way brother, Hulk Hogan would eat his vitamins, rip his shirt off and find his own way home Gosh Darn it’
So I walked, or rather, stomped, around the strange neighbourhoods of KL singing ‘Voodoo Chile’ to myself and working out the best way to leg drop someone.
Eventually I arrive back to the mall, quite pleased at myself, but even happier to be reacquainted with the air conditioning, when this guy comes up to me, and asks where I got my bag, he likes it.
I turn to him with an insane glint in my eyes ‘I bet you do, and I bet your sister is going to be a nurse in Manchester!’ I exclaimed. He looked worried and confused. ‘Leave me alone Brother, don’t make me run wild on you’.
Jet Lag Rules.
Saturday, May 1, 2010
emo cat
so my cat is a self harmer. what can i possibly do about this? every time i'm walking somewhere, he runs straight into my legs. luckily, he's very small, so rather than tripping i merely kick him across the room wih my stride. he then looks up at me like 'how could you do this to me', and i'm all like 'dude, i have tea in my hand, don't fuck with me'.
is there therapy for emo cats? do i simply have to wait for him to grow out of it? Would Black Sabbath help?
course it would, black sabbath helps everything
is there therapy for emo cats? do i simply have to wait for him to grow out of it? Would Black Sabbath help?
course it would, black sabbath helps everything
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